Wild Card
by vigirl
Summary: The dynamic duo play a little Trivial Pursuit


Title: **_Wild Card_**

Author: Alison Nixon

Rating: G

Category: Humor, Angst, UST – G/S

Spoilers: None

Summary:  The dynamic duo play a little Trivial Pursuit

Disclaimers: The usual. None of the characters are mine

Feedback: Of course!

Archival: Sure, just let me know where it's going.

Author's Notes:  OK, this is a response to a fanfic challenge issued by Devanie in the G/S Yahoo group. The idea is to write about Grissom and Sara playing Trivial Pursuit in one of their apartments, with UST/banter, and using the questions as the story framework.  As a dedicated TP fan myself, how could I resist?

********

"Hey Grissom!"

Gil looked up, startled.  He had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he was already past the break room door when he heard Warrick's voice.  He turned back and saw Catherine sitting next to Warrick on one side of the table and Greg and Nick on the other.  As he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his expression changed from mild curiosity to something more intense when he noticed Sara was in the room as well, standing behind Greg and Nick.

"What are you guys doing?" 

Catherine gave him a smug look.  

"What does it look like we're doing, Gil?  Warrick and I are beating the crap of Greg and Nicky at Trivial Pursuit--Genus 5, I might add." 

Greg coughed loudly.

"Uh, excuse me, Catherine.  I think you meant to say that you were _modestly_ beating Nick and I at TP until very recently.  But now we have the lovely Lady Sara on our side, and you are going _down_."

Warrick snorted.  "That is so weak, man.  At least you admit that you two losers were flailing in the wind on your own.  Catherine and I only let her help you 'cause we felt sorry for your sad asses."

"Hey, don't include me in that.  I told Greg we didn't need any help, but he just had drag Sara into this.  I can't vouch for him, but I have _cojones_, OK?  Without him dragging me down, I could take both of you myself."

Even Grissom had to laugh at the unlikelihood of that, although he covered it well.  

"Seems like the usual insanity is well under way.  Why am I here, Catherine?"

"Well, if these two pinheads can call on Sara, Warrick and I should be able to call on you.  Your brains will basically cancel each other out, I figure, so then we're back to a level playing field."

"That theory might work, Catherine, if Grissom's brain was in fact equal to mine in this arena, but alas that is not the case."  

Sara fixed her eyes on Grissom, and smiled slowly.  "I _own_ Trivial Pursuit."

He merely raised an eyebrow.  

"I hear nothing but the ramblings of a delusional mind, Sara.  Luckily for you I'm going to refrain from entering this game given that there's no provision in the rules for an ex parte players, and I don't want to compound your error by taking Warrick and Catherine's side as such."

"Grissom, come on--" Catherine whined.

He held up his hand.  "No way, forget it. That's why we have rules, Catherine.  Besides, how will you know you've really won if you have to do it with my help?"

"Oh, cut the rhetorical crap, Gil.  We just want to win!"  

"And therein lies the problem."  Grissom smiled lightly.

Sara rolled her eyes.  "The Zen master's guide to happiness: play not to win."  

She started towards the door.  "Well I'm not staying if he's not staying.  Sorry guys," she motioned to Nick and Greg but kept her eyes on Grissom. "It would be unfair."

Damn, Greg thought, foiled again.  He tried once more. "But you promised, Sara!"

"Goodbye, Greg."  

She smiled at Grissom, and tried to move past him in the doorway.  He could have simply stepped backward into the hall to give her better clearance, but he chose to stay where he was and watch her slide her back along the side of the doorframe opposite the one he was occupying.   When she had finished slithering over the threshold, he turned to her and they walked slowly down the hall.   

"That's a sucker's game anyway." Sara said casually, her mind already formulating a plan.

"Yeah.  Genus 5 edition.  Please.  Why even bother to play unless it's the "Know-It-All" version?"

"I know.  I think I've memorized most of the questions in Genus 5 anyway."

"Ah, and you see, while you merely think you have done so, I _know_ I have."

Sara halted their leisurely walk.  She focused her eyes on his.  "Oh is that so?"

"That is so, yes."

"Well, what about the "Know It All"?  You got that stored up in your memory banks too, Einstein?"

Grissom shrugged. "Why? You think you can take me?"

Sara paused, narrowing her eyes.  "Oh, I _know_ I can take you, old man.  That's never been in doubt."  She smiled as he watched her, looking slightly alarmed.

 "But all right, since you seem to have doubts about the matter, why don't you bring your bad self over tonight for some Sara Sidle humiliation.  I think you've earned it, don't you?"  Especially for not having asked me out by now, she added silently.  I guess I'm going to have to resort to base trickery.   The things this man drives me to, she sighed.

"Cute, but I don't think so."

"What are you, scared?"

"Frankly, yes."

She laughed out loud.  

"Well you have two options.  Either you come over to my place in an hour with your brain in overdrive, or I'll spread vicious rumors about how there used to be weekly TP games here at the lab years ago, during which Ecklie routinely trounced you.  Trounced you, that is, until that mysterious day he showed up driving your Mercedes and you were seen shredding your TP question cards one by one…"

He stared.  "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Her voice was soft, but her eyes danced.

Sweat started to break out on Grissom's forehead.  

"Your place, one hour."

Sara's face lit up.  He could have sworn she skipped down the hall, leaving him wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. 

*******

Sara rushed around, straightening and cleaning as best she could with such short notice.  She wasn't a slob, really, but she was sure that Grissom's place was always spotless and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea.  She had a feeling neatness was important to him.  As she ran a cloth over her stereo, she went through a mental checklist.  She had beer and wine, cheese and fruit.  She'd refilled the toilet paper and cleaned the bathroom.  She had an array of take out menus for him to choose from, if he was really hungry.  And the game was laid out on her coffee table.  They would sit on the floor pillows beside it.  She'd decided against their playing at her kitchen table—too boring.  It would be more relaxed and intimate to sit on the floor.  Besides, the thought of Grissom tucking himself into the lotus position on a cushion made her laugh.  Her own little bowed leg Buddha.  

Of course I'm probably going to make a fool of myself, she thought.  But it's been weeks now since he talked about my … beauty, or whatever that was, and he still hasn't done anything concrete.  If I hadn't started calling him at home, we'd still be just going home and wishing we were still at work so that we could at least talk to each other.  Sara shook her head, remembering how nervous she had been when she finally dialed his home number from her cell phone on her way home that night.  They were working the bus crash case, and she was just feeling really good about him and about things being back to normal between them.  She figured that it must have been leftover giddiness from the conversation they'd had when she came in to tell him she'd found chlorine in the tires.  She smiled again.  He'd looked so cute as he spun his theory for her about the crash.  It had taken all of her will to wait for him to finish.  Even after all that, he had to admit that he didn't know what made the tires fall apart in the first place.  But she did.  The look on his face as she told him was priceless.  And later, when she had known exactly what he was planning to say about her going to the trace lab before he could even finish the sentence, it was just icing on the cake.

It had felt like being on a high, or something.  That feeling carried her through the shift, but then when she found herself in her car and starting to head home, she could feel it fading.  What was different really, she had thought then.  She was still going home alone, despite how good the day had been.  She suddenly felt depressed. She knew she would need more to keep this up, whatever this "thing" was she and Grissom had going in the absence of an actual relationship.  And if history was any guide, she could be old and gray before it dawned on him to do _something_, anything.  So before she could think too much more about whether it was a good idea, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed his number.  She had no idea what she would talk about or how he would respond, but damn it, she was going to get this started.

Sara moved to sift through her CDs, looking for the mix she would put in her disk changer for tonight.  She didn't want anything too romantic or emotional; this was not a date, after all, and she definitely didn't want Gris to think she thought it was.  So, no Sade, no Sarah McLachlan, no Billie Holiday.  Maybe some Brother, Where Art Thou, some Moby (yeah, that'll get his ears buzzing, she sniggered) and some Santana…all good conversation pieces, she congratulated herself.  And things that won't make him go running into the night either, she noted.   He ought to have some idea of what to expect from her stereo by now, anyway.  After that initial talk on the phone, she started calling him every couple of days.  By the time he finally called her one morning after shift, instead of waiting for her to call him, they were talking pretty much every day.  It was a bizarre pattern, she supposed, but it seemed to work for them.   Some people do dating in person; she and Grissom seemed to do it by phone.   And while she had no idea what he thought of it all, she had been hoping that getting to know each other in this low pressure way would make him feel more comfortable about actually going on a real date—eventually.  She hoped.   

So who knows why she felt the need to do this little bit of maneuvering tonight to get him here.  It had been fun, frankly.  She liked teasing him and catching him off guard.  This was just an extension of that, really, so what was the harm?  She was still leaving it up to him to initiate the dating itself.  This was just a prelude to keep her sane in the meantime.  

Caught up in this logical dissection of her actions, she almost didn't catch the sound of the doorbell.  She started, and felt the fluttering of panic in her stomach.  What am I doing anyway?  This is so transparent.  The doorbell rang again.  OK, she thought, OK.  Just calm down, it's just a friendly game between intellectuals.  I didn't ask him out, it's not a date, and I _own_ Trivial Pursuit.  She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as she relaxed her body.  She tossed the cloth she'd been using to dust in the trash bin under her sink, and walked quickly to the door.  No nerves, she warned herself.  It's all about the TP.  She opened it, and smiled into his familiar face.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Their eyes met briefly, and then he looked down at his feet, embarrassed by his reaction.  She was wearing jeans and a simple blouse in bright pink.  She looked wonderful. 

"So come in.  I see that you brought something.  I hope for your sake it's not wine, given that alcohol does have a disproportionate effect on older brain cells.  And the way I figure it, you're already at an disadvantage."

Grissom felt his face relax as he listened to her banter.   This I can handle, he thought.  He looked up into her smiling face.

"I'm touched by your concern, Sara.  But please, do enlighten me: what disadvantage would that be?"

"Oh, well, we all know how beauty distracts you.  Alcohol will only increase its hallucinogenic effect on your mind."

He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, and watched as her brown eyes widened innocently with mock concern.

"I just don't even know how to respond to that."

She laughed, a light, happy sound.

"I know, dear.  So, shall we play?"

********

Grissom took a sip of wine before reading Sara's next question aloud. 

"Category: People & Places.  What World War I flying ace, the most decorated American pilot of WWI, later became president of Eastern Airlines?"

Sara frowned, muttering to herself.  "World War I, pilot, captain of industry…"

She noticed Grissom's expression.  "Why are you looking so smug about?"

"Oh nothing.  I just feel bad for you.  It's not a very girl-friendly question, I'm afraid."  
"Ugh, what a pig.  I knew the real Gil Grissom would come out sooner or later.  It's a damn shame, man, what the fear of a little competition is reducing you to."  She shook her head sadly.

"Pig? Who's a pig?  I'm just stating a sociological fact, most military history buffs are men.  And you'd have to be into military history to know the names of WWI flying aces."

"_Au contraire, mon frere_.  Here is where your logic fails you.  I am a woman, I am not an amateur military historian, but I read voraciously and widely.  Less than three months ago, _Fortune_ magazine did a in-depth piece on the future of the U.S. airline industry and in the middle of that piece they provided an aviation industry timeline that highlighted airlines that have failed over the years.  And of course, given that Eastern Airlines went bankrupt in 1980s, they mentioned them and a bit of their glorious past, which included having World War I flying ace _Eddie Rickenbacker_ serve as their president."

She delivered this smoothly, without even a moment's pause to check her memory.  She set her own wine glass down calmly before shouting "HA! So there!" and breaking into giggles.

Grissom chuckled in spite of himself.  She was insane, but he had known that going in.

"All right, all right, settle down.  Add the damn blue pie piece to your thing."

Still giggling, Sara dropped the blue wedge into her pie shaped playing token and rolled again.  The die tumbled to show a 4, which put her on pink, Arts and Entertainment.

"A&E, Gris. Lay it on me."

He pulled out a fresh card from the deck without moving his eyes from hers, and then quickly glanced down to read what it said.  He grinned; she'd never get this one.

"What American poet noted for his humorous verse wrote 'Reflections on Ice-Breaking' where he advised shy suitors, '_Candy is dandy / But liquor is quicker'_?"

Sara swore.

"What kind of cockamamie…I thought that was just a joke line, almost like a limerick.  I didn't know some poet actually spent time crafting it.  I don't think it ever occurred to me to think about who wrote it."  

She searched her memory for some tiny clue, but drew a blank.  

"Tick-tock." Grissom used the light tone with which he liked to rattle suspects. 

"Shut up, you.  Now who could it be?  Humorous verse; hmmm…don't really know any funny poets, uh, maybe Dorothy Parker, or James Thurber.  But did they write poetry, or just funny prose?"

At that moment, a loud sigh from the man across the table intruded upon her thoughts.  

"Gee Sidle, how long is the smoke going to come out of your ears on this one?  I'm growing gray hairs here."

"And that would be noticeable on your head, why?"

He smiled.  "Oh, you're really asking for it."

"Uh, you mean I've been asking for it, and you have yet to provide it."

He refused to answer the challenge in her eyes.

"I think you have a more immediate problem, Sara, and alas, one that I can't help you with.  What's your answer?"

She held his eyes, still stuck on the question of when he would be helping her with that other problem.   She felt a blush coming on, and quickly transferred her attention to the pink square her piece was currently resting on.

"All right, this is totally a guess, since I really don't know this one.  James Thurber."

He dropped his chin, and tried to look disappointed for her.    
"Oh no, I'm so sorry, Ms. Sidle.  James Thurber, droll man that he was, did not try his hand at poetry.  Instead it was the great Ogden Nash we can thank for this sage bit of advice to would-be lovers everywhere."

The man was just too pleased with himself, Sara marveled.  Yeah, well we'll see how long that lasts.

"Is that why you brought me wine instead of chocolate? You now, 'liquor is quicker'?"

"Moving on," pretending he hadn't heard her.  "I do believe it is now my turn."

He grabbed the die and threw it down quickly.  The six he had rolled allowed him to skip right over Sara's pie along the circular track on the board.

"Ah, lucky green.  Sports and Leisure.  Read on, lady."

Sara plucked the next new card, and grimaced.  Of all the sports for Grissom to draw…She sighed, grumpy at the thought of him getting an easy wedge. 

"OK, well this just sucks and is totally unfair, but fine.  Sports and Leisure:  "Who was the only major league baseball player to be killed after being hit by a pitch?"

His eyes twinkled; hers glared.  This was too easy.

"While I am curious about what it is that you find so unfair, I'll restrain myself and simply put you out of your misery.  As any true fan of the game knows, the unfortunate soul in question is one Ray Chapman."

"Yeah, yeah, that was just a giveaway question.  Just roll the die and let's move on to something meaningful."

"Whatever you say."

This time, Grissom landed on orange, Wild Card.

Sara smirked.  "Yeah, good luck with this category, Gris.  We all know how good you are with unexpected wildness."

"That caustic wit, Sara.  How it doth slay me."

"Shut up.  Now, 'Where was the first Charmin toilet paper commercial with 'Mr. Whipple' filmed?"  

She flipped the card to read the answer and immediately cracked up.  

"Man, you will never get this.  It's hilarious, but you'll never get it."

She was right about one thing; he had no clue what the answer was.  He wasn't exactly an avid consumer of advertising.  Some people would know just from watching those "Greatest Commercials of All Time" or "World's 50 Best Commercial Bloopers" shows on TV, but he had no such luck.  As he leaned back on his hands and soaked in the sight of Sara laughing once again, though, he reconsidered the question.  She was positively guffawing over there, to the point of nearly choking on the hunk of cheese she had popped into her mouth before she turned the card over and saw the answer.  So the answer was a humorous one.  What kind of funny answer could there be to a question about a toilet paper ad?  

Well, what you do with toilet paper that might be funny?  He cocked his head to the side, thinking it through, and keeping his eyes on Sara, who was happily grazing the spread in front of them and sipping her wine.   She was cute, wasn't she?  He gave himself a mental shake—focus, man, focus.  If you lose this game, she won't seem nearly so cute as she makes your live a living hell.  OK, well, you wipe with toilet paper. That can be funny, but how does it connect with a place name where the Charmin commercial could have been filmed?  What else? Well, after you wipe, you look at it to see if there's anything untoward going on down there—whoa, that's probably just me, so strike that, he cautioned himself.  All right, then what do you do? You throw the paper in the toilet, get up, and flush.  You flush.  Flush…Grissom sat up and clapped his hands together.  

"I've got it!   You should kiss me, I'm so good."

Sara's head shot up.

"What did you say?"

"I said I've got it."

"No, the other…"

"Flushing, New York!  That's it, isn't it? It's a neighborhood in one the boroughs of New York City, right?  Right?"

His blue eyes glowed as he leaned towards her like an eager little boy.

"That's …right," she stammered.  "How the hell did you know that?  There's no way!"

He just grinned.

"You read the card while I was stuffing food in my face, didn't you?" 

"No, no way!  Although you were packing it in so enthusiastically, I could have."

"Watch it, bubba."  She raised a warning finger. "So how the hell did you figure it out?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson.  Although I had no real idea of the correct answer initially, I decided to evaluate the ancillary evidence.  Your laughter upon reading the answer provided that evidence.  I considered what kind of answer would make you laugh, given that the question involved a commercial for toilet paper.  What do we do with toilet paper, and do those actions correspond to any place names?  And so I simply reasoned my way from there."

Sara could only shake her head.  She had to hand it to the man.  He _was_ good enough to kiss.  

She stared at him, looking at his eyes and then down at his mouth.  She went back to his eyes, which were caught up in hers.  Her eyelids lowered of their own accord and she leaned forward, leading with her lips.  She could feel his breath on her face, as she…stopped.  Wait a minute, she thought.  _What am I doing?  This man is totally beating me at my own game._  _"You should kiss me, I'm so good_."  Yeah, right.  She had to hand it to him all right.  Nice way to get her to make a move on him, and let him off the hook. Her eyes flew wide open again and she watched as he opened his, reluctantly.  He waited, still hopeful.  _What happened?  I thought she was going to do it!   I couldn't have set that up better if I tried.  Damn, is it my breath? Do I smell?_

Sara watched the thoughts flickering across his face, and summoned forth a smile from somewhere deep inside.  

"Nice try, old man.  So, shall we play?"

She sat back, and tossed her head lightly, still smiling.

Grissom rolled, and landed on pink.

"Who perfected their scathing verse on the streets of Hollis, Queens and brought rap music its first commercial success?"

He groaned.  Where's a wild card when you need one?

_Fin._

*******

  
  



End file.
